


Reckoning

by little0bird



Category: Star Wars: Rebels
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Drunk Kallus and Kanan, Gen, PTSD Kallus, Planet Yavin 4 (Star Wars), Post-Episode: s03e21-22 Zero Hour, Rebel Alexsandr Kallus, Some pining, Zeb trying to get Kallus out of his shell
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-23
Updated: 2020-11-23
Packaged: 2021-03-10 05:20:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,751
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27688165
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/little0bird/pseuds/little0bird
Summary: He couldn’t deny it was a rather bewildering environment after the rigid order of the Empire.But the only thing he said was, ‘Fine.’Zeb gazed at Kallus’ bent head. He’d grown adept enough at reading human body language during his time with the other Spectres that even the subtle tightening of Kallus’ jaw was as loud as a scream. It wasn’t fine, but he knew if he prodded it at all, it would likely send the man fleeing back to his workstation.He changed the subject.
Relationships: Alexsandr Kallus/Garazeb "Zeb" Orrelios, Kanan Jarrus & Alexsandr Kallus, Minor Kanan Jarrus/Hera Syndulla - Relationship
Comments: 13
Kudos: 118





	Reckoning

Zeb claimed two pouches of food from the mess and made his way through the maze of cubicles in Rebel intelligence until he came to the workstation crammed into a corner. The occupant patted for the upper drawer without looking up from his datapad, and withdrew a ration bar. The wrapper crinkled in the otherwise quiet room. ‘I wouldn’t give that to my worst enemy. Vile tasteless things.’

Kallus looked up, and sheepishly ran a hand through his hair. Freed from Imperial regulations, it had a somewhat annoying tendency to fall into his eyes. ‘Considering I was your worst enemy until rather recently...’

‘Either ya eat when the mess is deserted, because I haven’t seen ya there, or ya’ve been living on those things since ya got here.’ Zeb sincerely hoped it ws the former. The mere idea of living on ration bars for three weeks was enough to make his gut cramp and feel an urgent need to run for the ‘fresher.

Kallus toyed with the ration bar. ‘I find the mess...’. He looked down at his datapad and scribbled a note with a stylus. ‘The Empire prefers to offer sustenance in the form of liquid protein or ration squares. I usually claimed my meals from a dispenser and left. I didn’t linger. They didn’t encourage personal relationships, and as an ISB agent, it behooved me to maintain a level of separation from the rest of the crew, so...’. His face went red, and he snatched up the ration bar and ripped off the wrapper. ‘I don’t know why I’m telling you this.’

Zeb studied the chronometer on the wall. ‘When did ya start yer shift?’

‘Ahhh...’. Kallus squinted at the chronometer. ‘At oh-seven hundred,’ he muttered.

‘And it’s well after eighteen hundred now.’ He lifted the pouches. ‘Did ya even stop for breakfast? Lunch?’

Kallus gestured toward the drawer with the uneaten bar. ‘I had ration bars.’

Zeb rolled his eyes. ‘C’mon. Yer gonna eat a meal, with real food, with me.’ He thought Kallus would have lost the underfed pallor he associated with Imperials by now. Most of the defectors Zeb came into contact with seemed to after a few weeks of real food, but they were usually youngsters, barely old enough to stay out after dark, not high-ranking officers.

‘I don’t think I should,’ Kallus mumbled, shuffling sheets of flimsi.

‘Why? ‘Cause you were an Imp?’ Zeb snorted. ‘Half the bloody Rebellion useta be Imps. Yer not special.’

‘I have work to do.’

‘So does everyone else. And they manage to stop for proper meals.’

Kallus rubbed the space between his eyebrows. ‘Are you going to ensure I go to sleep at what you consider a decent hour, as well?’

‘Tuck ya in with a cup of warm Bantha milk and a bedtime story,’ Zeb shot back.

‘Fine,’ Kallus huffed.

Zeb gave Kallus a lopsided grin when the intelligence officer swiftly packed everything away and locked his workstation. ‘There’s an unused temple a few klicks away. We can eat there, if ya wanna avoid the crowds in the mess.’

Kallus completely missed the arm of his coat and covered his blunder by shaking it out a little before pulling it on with more care than usual. The idea of spending time alone with Zeb made his stomach perform a series of flips worthy of a circus performer. The ease with which they had talked deep into the night on Bahryn, as the storm swirled around their meagre shelter made him think that if he hadn't been ISB agent Alexsandr Kallus, they might have been on good terms with one another, if not friends. As it was, he couldn't blame Zeb if his past was a bridge too far. He told himself Zeb was just being polite. The Spectres brought him in, and had taken on the task of seeing he adjusted to life in the Rebellion. It was the only reasonable explanation. Kallus gestured toward the door. 'Temple,' he said. 'Lead on.'

* * *

Zeb eschewed the switchbacked staircase in favor of scaling the side of the pyramid to a point halfway up, while Kallus hiked up the narrow stairs. Zeb reached their destination well before he did. By the time Kallus joined Zeb, he was sweating a little in the humid evening. Kallus folded himself to the edge of the terrace next to Zeb, and sat with his feet dangling over the side, wiping his face on the sleeve of his coat. Zeb set a small lantern between them and switched it on, filling the terrace with a warm, steady glow. Kallus let himself breathe in the myriad scents of the jungle. The recycled air on starships could never compete with the olfactory symphony one could find on a planet. Damp earth mixed with endless cycle of growth and death of plants and trees. It was going to rain later. He’d learned to recognize the faint wisp of an incoming storm on the breeze. It wasn’t too difficult. It rained nearly every night on Yavin 4. Sometimes a short burst of rain that lasted less than thirty minutes. Other nights, the skies opened and vomited rain for hours, accompanied by ground-shaking thunderclaps and purple-white lightning bolts that streaked across the sky. There had been one such storm just after the medical staff discharged him from the medbay. He’d stripped his clothes off and stood naked in the deluge, letting the rain pour over him while he licked the rivulets of water from his lips. If only it had been enough to wash away his past deeds. ‘You don’t have to do this,’ Kallus muttered.

‘Do what?’ Zeb passed Kallus the pouch labelled with his name.

‘Assign yourself the role of… nursemaid or whatever it is you’re attempting to do.’ Kallus’ chest felt tight.

Zeb opened his pouch and peered inside. ‘What? Be friends with ya?’

‘Is that what you’re doing?’

’Been trying to. Ya don’t make it easy.’ Zeb dug a flatbread out of his pouch. ‘ _Alex.’_

Kallus bobbled the pouch, then gaped open-mouthed at him. ‘Wh-what did you call me?’

‘Alex. Short for Alexsandr.’

Kallus took a swig from his canteen to hide his confusion. ‘How…? No one has called me Alex since I was a child.’

Zeb’s shoulders hunched. ‘Ya told me to after Atollon.’ He grinned. ‘Ya were off yer tits, though. Allergic reaction to the analgesics I gave ya.’

Kallus ripped open the pouch and glared into it, willing himself not to cry. Hearing someone else call him Alex brought forth an echo of his mother’s voice. He pinched the bridge of his nose. _Sithspit_ … After years of suppression, all his emotions simmered just under the surface, welling up at inopportune moments. It was one reason why he never braved the mess. Nearly everything in his life from the age of fourteen until launched himself into the battle over Atollon in an escape pod had been regimented and decided for him. When to eat or sleep. What to eat. What he wore. Even what forms of entertainment were commonly available. He’d never had much leeway to make those kinds of small choices for himself. The prospect of making a decision outside of his work in intelligence almost left him paralyzed with indecision. He turned his attention back to Zeb and let out a shaky breath. ‘What else did I say?’

‘Nothing much. I got ya patched up, and ya fell asleep. Stayed that way until we got here. Then the medics whisked ya away.’ Zeb peeled back the lid of a bowl. ‘I can call ya something else, if ya want.’

Kallus removed the bowl from his pouch and fiddled with the tab on the lid. ‘You could… You can… You may call me Alex, if you wish.’ His vision blurred, and he ripped off the lid of the bowl, blinking in surprise at the contents. ‘This is vegetarian.’

‘Mess’ll make up a pouch with your preferences if ya want to eat elsewhere. You must’ve told someone when you arrived.’

‘In the medbay. I said I didn’t eat meat.’ Kallus dipped a spoon into the stewed vegetables and cautiously chewed a chunk of something that tasted far more appealing than it looked. Eating real food was still something of a novelty, and he was never quite sure how his stomach would react. He waited with more than a little trepidation, but it stayed down.

‘Why don’t ya eat meat?’ Zeb held up a placating hand at Kallus’ glare. ‘No judgement. Just curious.’

‘My family didn’t eat it regularly,’ Kallus mumbled. He did not want to plumb the depths of his difficult childhood just now. His family had so little money for food, that meat rarely graced the table at mealtimes. Not even on Life Day. Privation was normal state of being. His mother often made do with less, so Kallus could have enough to eat, up until the day he boarded a hover train that took him to the Academy. She sometimes brought home an assortment of the bits that the upper echelons grazed on at their fancy receptions. But three or four tiny cheese and egg pies were never enough for a growing boy. That was one of the reasons why he had worked so hard to pass the entrance exams so he could lessen the burden on his parents. The Academy just gave them the same ration squares as the troops. Those first few months, he’d received extra rations until he lost the half-starved look with which he arrived. It didn’t matter that it was relatively bland. He finally knew how it felt to fall asleep at night with a full belly. Rations were one of the things Kallus never took for granted, no matter how plain or tasteless they were. It was sustenance. He’d tried meat right after he left the Academy while he was on leave out of curiosity. Once. He’d been violently ill and never attempted it again. ‘So now, I just… don’t.’

‘Fair enough.’ Zeb looked into his bowl, which held his portion of a savory fish stew. ‘Will it bother ya if I…?’ He gestured toward the bowl.

‘No.’ Kallus eyed Zeb, and copied his actions, dunking a chunk of the flatbread into his own stew.

‘How are ya settling in?’

Kallus tapped his spoon on the edge of the bowl. Words crowded on his tongue. Everyone seemed friendly enough. To his face, at any rate. No one challenged his presence on the base or his position in the intelligence division. It didn’t hurt that he threw himself into his work, completing even the lowliest tasks assigned to him without complaint. He towered over the dividers of the shower cubicles and practically had to fold himself in half to get his head wet. But the water was hot and plentiful. The soap the Rebellion provided was equal measures of spicy and woodsy. It quickly became one of his favorite scents. After that of a certain Lasat. And his bunkmate… Gavyn Linsta was a human pilot in Blue Squadron. He was untidy. Not in his person. He was scrupulously clean. So were his clothes, albeit badly wrinkled. His half of the room was strewn with boots, holobooks, bits and pieces of flimsi, and half-drunk and long forgotten cups of caf. Kallus had to restrain himself from either throwing everything into the incinerator or putting Gavyn’s things to rights. Gavyn also had rather prodigious carnal appetites. The day after he moved into the bunk, Kallus had walked in on him in the throes of passion with a Togruta female and a human male. He beat a hasty retreat, somewhat bemused by logistics of the threesome. Kallus wasn’t precisely inexperienced, but it had been a very long time since he’d gratified his sexual urges with another person. Gavyn took to putting his boots outside the door when he had guests. Kallus didn’t begrudge or resent Gavyn for it, even when he was so tired he could sleep sitting up. Everyone in the Rebellion fought and worked hard. If he wanted to blow off some steam, then who was Kallus to judge? He couldn’t deny it was a rather bewildering environment after the rigid order of the Empire.

But the only thing he said was, ‘Fine.’

Zeb gazed at Kallus’ bent head. He’d grown adept enough at reading human body language during his time with the other Spectres that even the subtle tightening of Kallus’ jaw was as loud as a scream. It wasn’t fine, but he knew if he prodded it at all, it would likely send the man fleeing back to his workstation.

He changed the subject.

* * *

It was, Kallus reflected, pleasant on the terrace, away from the constant bustle of the base. He rarely allowed himself the pleasure of a few minutes’ time to do nothing, to think of nothing more than the next breath he drew into his lungs. Perhaps Zeb was right and he ought to do this more often. He collected the empty bowls and utensils, while Zeb unearthed a thermal carafe from his bag and poured caf into two cups, then held one out to Kallus. Kallus inhaled the aromatic steam with a blissful smile. That was another thing he had in common with Zeb. They both liked caf so strong it could revive the dead. He cradled the cup between his hands, letting the warmth seep into his palms. Kallus sipped it, half-listening to Zeb speak of Kanan, Sabine, and Ezra’s plans to rescue Sabine’s father from an Imperial prison. ‘You’re not going?’ he blurted in surprise.

‘Nah. Needs to be a covert operation. I stick out too much. I don’t think claiming to be a rare hairless Wookie would work this time.’

The corner of Kallus’ mouth turned up slightly. ‘You are quite memorable.’

Zeb countered with a cheeky grin. ‘With a mug only a mother could love.’ He’d meant for it to be a joke, because he was considered ruggedly handsome by Lasat standards, but it cast a pall over the fragile peace they had created. Kallus hunched forward, resting his elbows on his thighs. The lantern’s light threw harsh shadows over his face. Zeb scooted closer to him, mimicking his pose. ‘I forgive ya for Lasan,’ he said, keeping his gaze fixed on a tree. He felt, rather than saw, Kallus start with surprise.

‘I wish you wouldn’t.’ One hand curled into a fist tight enough for his clipped nails to dig into his palm. ‘I don’t deserve absolution.’

‘But ya deserve solitude and ration bars?’ Zeb stuffed the refuse from their meals into one of the pouches. ‘’M not taking it back,’ he added mulishly.

Kallus stiffened and frowned. ‘I don’t accept it.’

‘ _You_ don’t have to,’ Zeb snapped. He slowly counted to ten in Basic and Lasan. Then again. And a third time. ‘Alex… before you used the T-7s, did ya know what they did?’

Kallus studied his hands, recalling the way the disruptor rifle had vibrated in them. He’d had blisters that spanned the width of his palms after, despite the gloves he wore. ‘No.’

Zeb pointed a finger at him. ‘And if I recall correctly, you didn’t know the Empire meant to make an example of Lasan.’

Kallus gulped and blinked rapidly. ‘No.’ He shook his head stubbornly. ‘I still decided to…’

‘How old were ya?’

Kallus ran both hands through his hair. It had been close-cropped then, and his facial hair still more of a wish than a reality. When he still searched for his parents in every port he visited. ’Nineteen. Perhaps twenty.’ His chin trembled and he bit down savagely on his lip, drawing blood. ‘Not too long after… The incident. On Onderon.’

‘Ya were a kit.’

‘Old enough to make my own decisions, Garazeb.’

‘Could ya?’

The simple question landed with the force of a punch to his gut, sending all the air out of his lungs with an audible _whoosh_. ‘I…’ He folded his hands together and squeezed until the knuckles ground together. ‘I would have been shot. Certainly arrested had I refused to follow orders… Sent to a reeducation facility.’ He let out a shaky breath. It had been drilled into him in the Academy that the Empire was perfect. All its decisions were not to be questioned. He never allowed himself to ask the questions because it would insinuate his faith in the Empire was imperfect. ‘And yet, Garazeb, I had questions after Lasan, and I _chose_ to not look deeper. I chose to stay with the Empire, even with the evidence in front of my face. _I_ made those choices.’ His hands lifted and fell. ‘My bo-rifle… I justified Lasan to myself, because the guardsman who gave it to me had done so in accordance with your customs.’ He recalled the many sleepless nights he’d sliced into the old Republic databases, downloading all the information he could find about Lasat culture in files with layers upon layers of encryption, then assiduously erasing his tracks as he left.

‘Anything to help ya sleep at night?’ Zeb winced. He hadn’t meant for it to sound so cynical. Kallus flinched as though he’d been slapped.

‘Yes.’ Kallus turned to look at Zeb, anguish plainly written on his face. ‘Why would you want to be friends with the likes of someone like me, Garazeb?’ He scrambled to his feet and tripped down the worn stairs of the temple, and then disappeared into the inky darkness of the Yavin jungle. He’d often wondered since Bahryn if the bolts from his disruptor had killed Zeb’s family. Did Zeb know the guardsman he fought? He would have dearly loved to ask, but the finer details from the _Boosahn Keeraw_ where the fallen Lasat soldier had identified himself were lost in a jumble of nightmares. _How could he possibly look at me and not be reminded of it every second he’s with me?_

* * *

Yavin 4 teemed with life. Not just the hustle of the hundreds of people that came in and out of the Rebel base, but with the moon’s native flora and fauna. Kanan found it easier to slip into a meditative state here than he had on Atollon. He preferred to meditate outdoors, but the crash of a sudden downpour on the hull of _Ghost_ kept him inside his bunk. He took a deep breath and let his senses drift away from him, searching for his family. Ezra and Sabine were in the common area with Rex and Fenn Rau, debunking some of the more outlandish myths surrounding Jedi for the other Mandalorians. Whatever they were drinking was fairly mild. They’d have to down liters of it to get a buzz. Hera puttered in the cockpit with Chopper, fiddling with _Ghost_ ’s hyperdrive. Kanan still marvelled at her patience with the cranky droid. They knew what the other would need with just a few words or beeps. Which just proved that Chop’s argumentative nature with rest of the crew was an act.

And Zeb… Despite Zeb’s repeated assurances he’d moved on from Lasan, Kanan could sense the residual guilt that churned in him for not being able to save more of his people. It was always there. Some days it was just an eddy in the flow of Zeb’s usual emotions, but other days, it threatened to pull him under its tide. His feelings regarding a particular former Fulcrum agent were… complex. The simmering resentment and bitterness that flavored his thoughts regarding Kallus had gradually slipped away over the past year and a half. In its place was an intense overtone of lust. Kanan couldn’t blame him. Kallus was an objectively attractive man. The lust twined around deep admiration and…

Kanan frowned as his eyes slowly opened.

Zeb’s feelings were shot through with veins of failure, along with the sensation of frustration at Kallus’ seemingly unshakeable sense of self-loathing.

The simplest course of action would be to approach Zeb, but he could be as unyielding as a brick wall sometimes. Kanan thought he could try to get Zeb to approach Kallus from an alternate angle, but it wasn’t Zeb who needed him.

Kanan got to his feet and made his way into the cockpit, and leaned against the doorframe. ‘Hey.’

‘You okay?’ Hera glanced up from the console.

‘Yeah. Where did you put that bottle that Wedge brought back from his last mission?’

‘Compartment under our bed. The one on the right.’ Hera’s brow swept upward as she crossed her arms over her chest. ‘We were saving it for a special occasion,’ she reminded him.

Kanan ran a hand over his head. ‘I need it.’

Hera slid out of the pilot’s chair and sidled past Kanan. ‘Dare I ask?’

Kanan’s shoulders slumped. ‘I need to get someone drunk enough to talk freely.’

Hera thumbed the control panel of the bunk that was nominally hers, but it was an open secret that Kanan slept there as well. ‘Do I want to know?’ she sighed, stooping to open the compartment.

Kanan scratched the back of his neck, radiating sheepishness. ‘Probably not.’

Something in Kanan’s voice gave her pause. He wasn’t a particularly underhanded sort, but every single instinct went on high alert. Hera held the bottle just out of Kanan’s reach. A futile gesture, she knew. He could take it from her with a mere twitch of his fingers. ‘Who are you planning to interrogate?’

Kanan had the decency to look abashed. ‘Kallus,’ he muttered, rummaging in the cupboard for a waterproof cloak. He swirled it over his shoulders and held his hand out for the bottle. ‘I’m doing this for Zeb,’ he protested when Hera refused to give it to him.

‘You can’t force them to be friends,’ she retorted.

‘I know.’

‘If Kallus doesn’t want to be friends with Zeb, you have to let that go.’

Kanan’s fingers fluttered, and the bottle slipped from Hera’s grasp and flew into his. ‘It isn’t that, Hera…’ He slipped the bottle into an inside pocket of the cloak. ‘They both want it. They both need it. They relate with one another in a way that Ezra and I can’t with them.’

‘I’m afraid I don’t understand.’

‘Zeb and Kallus are warriors,’ Kanan stated, as if that explained everything.

Hera flicked the lightsaber hanging from Kanan’s belt. ‘And you aren’t?’

Kanan shook his head. ’No. Not like that. Jedi are — were — trained to fight, but in defense of ourselves and others. The warrior creed that Zeb and Kallus live by… it’s not in the Jedi ethos.’ He drew the hood of the cloak over his head. ‘Don’t wait up.’

Hera snorted. ‘Oh, I won’t.’ She kissed him full on the mouth. ‘Good luck, love. You’re going to need it.’

* * *

Kanan made his way through the maze of corridors, reaching out with his senses. The blur of resignation and misery was unmistakable. And startlingly similar to what he’d felt with Zeb. ‘Kallus?’

Kallus straightened from a slump on a crate at the end of the passage that led to his bunk. ‘Kanan.’

‘What are you doing out here?’

Kallus gestured vaguely into the darkened corridor. ‘My bunkmate has… ah… _company_.’

Kanan’s brows drew together slightly as he reached out with his mind. Two spots of color burned high on his angular face. ‘I don’t know whether to be impressed or to report him to his commander.’ Fraternization wasn’t strictly frowned upon in the Rebellion. There were only two hard and fast rules: Keep it out of your chain of command, and if possible, keep it out of your department. One brow slowly rose towards his hairline. ‘Not even in my wilder days did I ever have more than two at the same time… I’m officially impressed.’

Kallus turned his back firmly away from his bunk. ‘Did Garazeb send you?’

‘You know, you’re the only person that calls him that,’ Kanan commented.

‘It’s his name,’ Kallus retorted stiffly.

‘I just mean you’re one of the few humans I’ve ever heard pronounce it properly.’

‘Names are important.’ Kallus flushed and looked away. He’d made a conscious decision to use Garazeb, to honor his lost culture.

‘They are.’ He gestured with his chin toward Kallus. ‘What about you? You want to be called Kallus or Alexsandr?’

‘Kallus is sufficient,’ he said stiffly.

’That’s not what I asked. Do you want me to call you Kallus or Alexsandr? It’s your choice.’

There was that word again. _Choice_. Something so small, yet it carried the weight of a boulder. What did he want people to call him? Alexsandr felt too familiar, and yet he’d given Zeb permission to use it. To call him Alex, the nickname his mother habitually used. At the same time, Kallus felt too cold. Too aloof. But it was familiar in an environment seething with unfamiliarity. ‘Kallus,’ he finally muttered. ‘For now.’

Kanan grasped Kallus by the elbow and began to tow him from the troop living quarters. ‘Come on. Let’s go have a drink. I’ve got something Wedge liberated from a Corellian freighter last week.’ His teeth flashed white in a rueful grin in the gloom of the pyramid. ‘It’ll probably kill us, but we’ll die happy.’ Kanan’s shoulders rose and fell in a shrug. ‘Or at least we won’t care.’

The cantina was open on three sides, under a large canopy that protected the scraps of tables from the nightly deluge. Candledroids hovered overhead, casting pools of dim golden light over the floor. Most of the table had clusters of three or four people around them, drinking a truly dizzying array of beverages. Kanan steered Kallus toward one of the smaller tables in a dark corner, then went to the bar to claim two tall slender glasses. He returned to the table and set them down, along with a narrow bottle filled with a sticky purple liquid. He carefully filled each glass and pushed one toward Kallus.

Kallus passed the glass under his nose and recoiled slightly. Whatever it was, it would likely make an excellent solvent to remove carbon scoring on the hull of the the _Ghost_. Kanan tapped his glass against Kallus’. ‘Cheers,’ he intoned.

‘What is this?’ Kallus asked.

One of Kallus’ forefingers lightly brushed over the label. ‘Gadje. A very old, and very potent vintage.’

Kallus held up his glass to the light, studying the amethyst sparks created by the flickering candledroids, and then let a sip slide down his throat. It was heavy, fruity, and slippery on his tongue. He opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out.

Kanan followed suit, humming as the liquor burned its way down his throat. ‘I probably shouldn’t tell you this, but Zeb was the one who convinced us to try and get you out.’

Kallus frowned at him. ‘I thought Jedi didn’t lie,’ he scoffed.

‘It’s the truth. After an incident with an infiltrator droid.’ Kanan allowed himself another small sip of the gadje, shuddering a little as he swallowed.

‘Thrawn used it to find your base.’ Kallus lifted his glass to his mouth and bolted the entire contents to try and quell the inevitable reaction to reliving those memories. He clumsily refilled his glass, visibly surprised at his diminished reflexes after just one glass. _What the hell is in this?_ He squinted at the label, feeling rather as he did when he inadvertently took any analgesics derived from ice mushrooms.

‘Zeb thought you were going to be found out.’ He leaned forward, his pale, milky eyes unnervingly fixed on Kallus. ‘I’ve seen Zeb let his emotions get in the way of his reason, but I’ve rarely seen him well and truly frightened.’ Kanan jabbed a finger into Kallus’ shoulder. ‘For you.’

Kallus shoved his hand through his hair. ‘Don’t be ridiculous.’

Kanan guffawed. ‘Did you ever wonder why we sent Ezra, Chop, and AP-5 to rescue you?’

‘Because Ezra was…’ Kallus shrugged with one shoulder. ‘An unknown quantity. Less likely to stand out.’

‘And Zeb couldn’t keep his head in the game.’ Kanan waggled a finger at Kallus. ‘I’ve known Zeb for a long time. I’ve never felt him as dejected as he was when we landed on Atollon without you.’

Kallus’ shook his head in a ponderous motion. ’Only because the rescue mission didn’t go as planned.’

‘Because you were still in danger. If you’d died in Imperial custody, I don’t think Zeb would have ever forgiven us. Or himself.’

Kallus scoffed. ‘You’re wrong.’

‘Am I?’ Kanan sipped his drink.

‘Of course you are.’ Kallus stared at the sheets of water falling from the sky. ‘The intersection of my past and his looms rather large.’

Kanan propped both elbows on the table and jabbed a finger in the air for emphasis. ‘The Jedi always said not to dwell in the past, because you can’t change what happened. Otherwise you spend too much time thinking about what you should have done.’ He poured more gadje into his glass. ‘My Master told me the only way to think about your past is to examine your mistakes so you don’t make the same ones next time.’

Kallus splashed more gadje into his glass, not caring about the hangover he would surely have come morning. ‘Be that as it may, you can’t tell me that I don’t make Zeb think about the worst day of his life.’ He tossed back the liquor and coughed, eyes watering. ‘I dreamed about it. For years. I would wake up, paralyzed. Feeling like I couldn’t breathe. The dreams would cease. For a while. Then something would bring them back. A certain smell. Or sound. Always after a battle. Without fail.’ He rubbed the back of his hand under his nose. ‘After the first time I saw Garazeb with the Wookies.’ He swiped a hand over his cheeks, mortified at the wetness on them. ‘Have you ever seen a T-7 disruptor in action on an organic being, Kanan?’

‘No.’

Kallus shuddered, feeling sweat break out along his hairline. He pressed his lips together into a tight line against the tide of nausea that rose in his throat. ’It liquefies them,’ he said succinctly.

‘You don’t have to —‘

‘The Empire dropped units all over Lasan. It took less than a day.’ He stood up abruptly and stumbled to the edge of the canopy, leaned over, and puked, narrowly avoiding the toes of his boots. As he straightened, wiping the back of his hand over his mouth, he could vividly remember how the liquefied remains of the victims soaked into the soil, creating a foul smelling muck that caked on their boots and uniforms. He’d thrown his boots into an incinerator the next day, even though they were cleaned and sanitized. Just touching them made him gag. He stood for a long moment letting the cold rain splatter his upturned face. When he returned to the table, Kanan had refilled his glass. Kallus mockingly saluted him with it, then bolted it back to erase the acidic aftertaste of vomit. Kanan immediately refilled it. ‘It didn’t happen all at once. It didn’t kill them slowly, either. It was painful. Excruciatingly so.’ He picked up his glass with a trembling hand, seeing the faces of the Lasat he killed, twisted into a rictus of terror and agony. He tossed back the contents of his glass. ’No one ever asked why,’ he said quietly. ‘To ask why was to have your loyalties questioned.’

‘Alexsandr…’ Kanan reached out and grasped Kallus’ wrist. ‘You don’t have to tell me any of this.’

Kallus’ mouth twisted in a hideous parody of a grin. ’No. But I need to.’ He refilled his glass. ‘Everything I ever did in the name of the Empire, I did so to become a perfect Imperial agent. So I could stop the questions. It only…’ His throat closed. ‘They kept coming. And I kept committing atrocious acts for the Empire to try and stop them once and for all.’ He sipped the gadje. ‘Garazeb encouraged me to look for the answers. Once I did…’ He made a gesture with his hand. ‘I don’t know who found me. It wouldn’t surprise me if someone in Rebel intelligence monitored the Republic archives or Imperial information systems on a far deeper scale than even the Empire. Whoever it was surely saw me in there, and saw what I was doing, and sent encoded messages. I knew it wasn’t from within the Empire. I know every secret frequency they use. I suppose I passed whatever test they set, and they recruited me to be a Fulcrum agent. It was a lifeline. I defected without a second thought and started sending information to the Rebellion on the Fulcrum frequency. I requested to report to the Phoenix Cell. I wanted to try and atone for what I had done to Garazeb’s people. To you and Ezra.’ He swirled the liquid in his glass, watching the purple hue deepen and fade as it curled around the edges. ‘When you picked me up over Atollon, I swore I wouldn’t waste the opportunity to do it _right_ this time.’ Kallus’ tongue felt thick, and he was inexplicably seized with the desire to scrape off whatever fuzzy moss had sprouted on it. Perhaps another sip of the gadje would help. He shuddered as it slipped down his throat. The dim, smoky light of the cantina dimmed a little more. ‘Still... everything I’ve done for the Rebellion doesn’t ma-make up for what I did in the Em-em-empire,’ he hiccuped.

‘That’s bollocks,’ Kanan pronounced. ‘Yeah, you did some pretty terrible things in your past. But your past is your past. Not your present and not your future.’ He leaned back in the spindly chair. ‘You’re trying to be better. And succeeding.’ He upended the bottle over his empty glass. ‘That’s a damn sight better than a lot of people who see the shit the Empire does and choose to do nothing.’ He licked a stray drop of gadje off a finger. ‘You’re not the only high-ranking Imperial defector. There’re plenty of ex-Imps in the Rebellion that did just as much, if not more, than you.’ He gestured around the now-empty cantina. ‘If the Rebellion held every ex-Imp’s past actions against them, we would be in worse shape than we already are.’ He tossed back the liquor and stood, pleased that he only wobbled slightly. ‘You are a good and decent man, Alexsandr. And Zeb thinks so, too.’ With that Kanan lightly punched Kallus on the shoulder and left.


End file.
